Warning: If you are at all squeamish, stop reading right now and come back on a less vulgar day. Life can be messy; this is one of those times.
On Sunday the girls took Our Best Friend outside to play. He got a little over-excited and lost his lunch in the snow, so the girls brought him back in.
Fast forward two days. The Middle Child took OBF out for a bathroom break, but returned almost immediately. “Mommy, OBF was being VILE! He dug up his barf and wanted to eat it! It was SO GROSS! So I made him come in.”
Later it was the Oldest’s turn. She, too, came back in almost immediately. “OBF is SO DISGUSTING!!! He found his vomit, it’s all frozen, and I couldn’t make him leave it alone! So I brought him back.”
Well, the dog still hadn’t done what he’d gone out to do. So even though it was colder out than I can stand, I bundled up and took him out. And damn if those girls weren’t right. There was no separating him from his leftover waste. It was completely frozen– a barfsicle, if you will– no amount of tugging on the leash could make him come, and nothing would make him drop it. I tried burying it under the snow again, kicking pieces across the yard… he went after every single chunk like it was the most tender bits of steak. Unlike the girls, I was determined to stay out until did his rightful business. As a result, I think the whole disgusting mess ended up right back inside him. And in the end I don’t think he even did what I wanted him to do. I’m with the girls– ew, gross, vile, disgusting. And he better not kiss me with that mouth.